


I Tear Myself Open To Sew Myself Shut (My Weakness Is I Care Too Much) (BRENDON URIE)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Panic! at the Disco, brendon urie - Fandom
Genre: Brendon Urie - Freeform, Other, Panic! at the Disco - Freeform, reader - Freeform, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7460280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Word Count: 1233</p><p>Requested: Yes</p><p>Warnings: Fighting, yelling, cursing</p><p>I liked the way this one ended, with a healthy dialogue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Tear Myself Open To Sew Myself Shut (My Weakness Is I Care Too Much) (BRENDON URIE)

The fights were exhausting. They tore through the house like a hurricane, leaving you, and Brendon, breathless. He would find a home in the guest room and you would hide yourself in the bedroom you two used to share. His words would follow you, slipping under the cracks of the door and into your mind, suffocating you with the anxiety and sadness that came with fighting with Brendon.

You were ready to go, bags packs and filling the backseat of your car, when Brendon came home. He was already red-faced from some sort of argument, or stress, and when he saw you with keys in hand, it made him blow his top. He threw down his own keys, the empty coffee cup hitting the floor, too.

“What,” He barked, “Are you planning on leaving me?”

You stood and rounded on him, “I just fucking _might_ ,” You snarked, “All you ever do is argue with me.” Brendon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “And if you don’t explain why I will walk out that door that’s behind you.” Brendon sighed and wiped his hand down his face.

“I can’t tell you.”

You threw your hands up in the air, “Of course.” You scoffed in his direction, “Of course, you can’t tell me. Why would you be able to?”

“I can’t tell you, I would love to tell you, but I fucking _can’t_!” Brendon exploded, “Do you wanna know why I can’t tell you?” You stood stagnant and waited for Brendon to explain, to speak. But he just kept opening his mouth, trying to look for some excuse to tell you. His silence, the way his eyes begged for you to drop it, told you everything you needed to know.

“Oh, for _fucks_ sake, Brendon,” You growled, “I guess I’ll leave you alone to figure out what you’re going to say next.” He called your name as you made your way to the bedroom that had been your safe haven for weeks, before cutting himself short when you slammed the door in his face. If he didn’t want to tell you, he didn’t want to tell you.

You toed off your shoes and collapsed on the bed, rolling over and dragging the covers over you as you did. The stress was eating away at you and sleep was approaching fast. That’s what you did, you slept off the fight to get away without leaving. It wasn’t the healthiest for you, or your relationship, but it was what kept you from leaving Brendon. You decided to hear him out, to listen to what he came up with in the time you gave him. Before you fell asleep you wondered if he would have a good excuse, wonder if he would come clean.

You decided, as you drifted off, that if he didn’t come clean, you wouldn’t stay. You would leave, you would end it, and your heart would be broken for years to come.

* * *

Brendon was calling your name, opening the door slowly. He was trying to make sure you didn’t run, didn’t flee what he was going to tell you. You were still asleep, breathing lightly with a twisted face. His stomach turned with regret, and he clutched the box in his hand. He knew he should have told you, knew he should have planned it better or maybe just kept his stress and his nerves under better control.

“Brendon?” You groaned, still tired, “What the fuck do you want?” He sighed, lip trembling as he sat down next to you, and you sat up, pulling the covers tighter around your shoulders.

“I-I was planning,” He nodded, biting his lip and looking down, “And I was stressed about the upcoming tour and I was wrong to take it out on you. And I’m sorry.” You thought he sounded credible, he sounded sincere. You wanted to believe him, you did, but what was so stressful about planning tours? He had planned tours much more stressful than the upcoming one, so why was he so stressed about this one?

“And that gives you the right to treat me like shit?” You asked, voice bitter. Brendon looked at you, eyes bigger than saucers.  
  
“No, it doesn’t.” He said, voice more firm than anything you had ever heard from him, “No, it doesn’t. What I did, arguing with you like that, it was wrong. I shouldn’t have taken my stress out on you, I should have just told you what I was planning to do.”

_Planning to do? You already knew about the tour so what was he planning to-_

Brendon handed you the box in his hand and your stomach twisted with guilt and fright. The box itself fit in your fist, and it was made out of a rich, red velvet that you had only seen in movies.

“Brendon?” Your voice shook, rattled by the thought of what could have been in the box, “Brendon, what is this?” He shrugged and gestured for you to open the box, eyes glued to his hands that rested on his knees.

Slowly, you opened the box, and tried to suppress your gasp. Inside lay a ring, one that you had seen in stores but never liked sitting in the case. Outside of the case, however, cradled by the velvet, it was gorgeous, amazing, and it was everything you had ever wanted. You looked back at Brendon surprised to see him near tears.

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, “I didn’t know. I would have never- I- _Brendon_ ,” You couldn’t say anything else, so you pulled the ring from the box and tried it on your finger, “Is this- are you?” He sighed and pushed himself next to you, arms encircling your shoulders over the covers. It warmed you and a guilty sweat broke out over your brow.

“I still want to marry you,” He whispered, laying you down, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I just- I couldn’t. I couldn’t figure out how to ask you, how to set it up. I wanted it to be romantic, to be like in the movies. I was staying late at the studio to try and whip up some ideas and by the time I came back I was, I was just so stressed out that I couldn’t keep up my demeanor like I wasn’t scared about anything.”

“I’m sorry,” You whispered, turning in his arms until you could push your face into his neck, “I want to marry you, too.”  
  
Brendon pulled you closer, “You said you might leave me.”  
  
“I did.”

“Why?”  
  
“Because I couldn’t take it anymore,” He sighed and rubbed his finger over the ring, “I couldn’t take the fights, Brendon. I missed you so fucking much and there wasn’t anything I could do about it.” You leaned up and pressed your lips against his cheek. “I’m sorry. You don’t understand how sorry I am.”

“I do,” he sighed, pulling you as close as possible to him, “I understand because I’m that sorry. I care about you so much, I love you so fucking much, and I never want to lose you because of some dumbass thing I’ve done.”

You shifted, allowing Brendon to slide under the covers with you. He sighed and looked at you with expectant eyes. “Are you going to say yes?” Through his nerves, he chuckled.

“Yes, Brendon, I’ll marry you.”


End file.
